Lessons from John
by whytejigsaw
Summary: After failing to solve a jewellery heist due to missing a romance angle, Sherlock reluctantly agrees to have lessons from John. An eventual Sherlock/Molly story with a healthy dose of John & Sherlock's traditional canon friendship. Beta'd by Thinkswithpen. There will be several chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Lessons from John**

**So this is spurred on by comments on my last fic (The Talk) asking me to reveal what John told Sherlock but it's not in the same story at all. Molly doesn't make her appearance for a while but this will be a Molly/Sherlock story eventually.**

"Cheer up, mate," said John as they arrived back at 221B Baker St, "we can't solve everything!"

"I don't see why not, John." Sherlock flung himself on the couch, coat and all.

"Well, in this case, your lack of knowledge was at fault, and if you'd just listened to me, those jewels wouldn't be on the black market right now, one illicit transaction away from being the property of a Russian oligarch's wife."

"It's a waste of my talents to take on robberies anyway," huffed Sherlock.

"You know I'm right. If you had ever been a normal guy, you'd have spotted the romance angle immediately."

"Pfft."

"I'll make some tea," placated John.

For 20 minutes, Sherlock did not talk. Finally, he took a sip of his now cold tea, made a face and announced.

"Alright then."

"Er, what?" John looked up from his half-typed blog post of their latest case.

"I concede that knowledge of romance might have been useful in this instance." He said romance like other people said rotting flesh wound. "I accept your offer of guidance."

"Hang on, have you been conversing with me in your head again?"

"Of course not, you said I could learn from you: I accepted."

John considered this for a moment. He held his hands in a prayer pose silently mocking his flatmate.

"Ok," he said finally, "but you agree to follow my lead in all things."

"No."

"Yes. Or no deal."

"Fine. When do we start?"

"Tonight. We're going to the pub."

"For what?"

"You'll watch me chat up women and then you can have a go. It should be easy…you can be charming when it suits you."

Sherlock just nodded in response.

"Oh, and get out of that suit – it's too intimidating. Wear jeans and a shirt."

"Really? I have to wear a costume?!"

"Yes. Maybe it'll help you get into character."

"What character is that?"

"Normal human male trying to score."

Four hours later, they arrived at the bar John had picked. Sherlock had questions.

"Explain why you chose this wine bar."

"Wine bars have only background music. Regular pubs will be much noisier. If you're to observe properly, you'll need to hear and see what I'm saying. Now, when we go inside, we'll walk once around the whole venue and then I'll chose our seats."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"So we can scope out all the women."

Suddenly, a thought occurred to John.

"Sherlock…you wouldn't prefer to go to a gay bar, would you?"

"No." John looked relieved but pressed on for absolute certainty.

"Just so we're clear, you do realise that these, er, lessons will result in homework that could involve many if not all of the following activities: being pleasant for no ulterior motive, using your powers of deduction to give compliments, kissing, touching and, although I doubt you'll be that successful, the opportunity to have sex with a woman?"

"Why wouldn't I be that successful?" Sherlock retorted before realising he'd been drawn into agreeing to it all.

"Fine. Follow my lead. Tonight, you're just watching."

John pushed the door open and went inside. The wine bar was Italian, but not cheesy. A small bar ran along the back wall. Booths lined the other three and table were in the middle. It was reasonably early so plenty of seats were available. Despite his previous assertion that they would do a lap before committing to a location, John made a beeline for the bar and pulled out a chair, two down from a woman sitting alone. He motioned for Sherlock to sit on his other side and picked up the menu.

Sherlock took stock of the lady at the bar. Early 30s, unmarried, professional, sipping a glass of red wine and reading a Kindle. He briefly lamented that it wasn't a real book, therefore denying him the further insight that could be gained from the title and style.

John turned to her and smiled. Nodding towards her glass, he asked

"What's that you're drinking? Is it any good? I'm rubbish at picking the right wine," he explained.

"It's Chianti. Do you know much about wine?"

John ran his fingers through his hair; "No, but it's a good conversation starter." He brazened it out and was rewarded when she smiled back at him.

Signalling to the barman for 3 more glasses, John moved over a seat, leaving Sherlock momentarily alone until he realised he was supposed to move too.

"I'm John, this is my insufferable mate, Sherlock."

"I'm Kate. Why is he insufferable?"

"How long do you have?" he joked.

The barman brought their wine and John nodded at Sherlock to pay. Apparently, lessons were not free.

Kate looked at her watch.

"Waiting for someone?" John enquired.

"My friend, Sharon, but I reckon a row with her unsuitable boyfriend is going to result in her ditching me."

"I'm glad we're here to keep you company then."

"What do you do?" asked Kate.

"I'm a doctor and Sherlock is a chemist," John jumped in quickly. Sherlock opened his mouth to correct him but a look from John stopped him.

"And Sherlock, that's a very unusual name…" she prodded.

"Family tradition. You should hear some of my cousins' names," said Sherlock, speaking for the first time.

"So you can speak. I wondered if you just let John do all the talking."

"Well, he is so good at it," said Sherlock, finally starting to play along.

The wine and conversation flowed. Sherlock watched as John turned into a different person before his eyes. Gone was the military bearing, the pent-up frustration and the put-upon attitude. In their stead, a charming, self-deprecatingly funny and quite adept manipulator appeared. After about an hour, Kate excused herself to go to the ladies and Sherlock pounced on John.

"Your whole personality changes around women. I've never seen you like this before."

"Well, I was never trying to chat you up…I hope you're taking mental notes. What have you observed?"

"You compliment her while quietly putting yourself down and occasionally slagging me off. You've only had two glasses of wine to her three so she's drunker than you are. In the last 5 minutes, you've touched her arm and then her knee. She's responded with similar kinds of touches."

"Good. Those are the sort of signals we send to let the other person know we're interested. Now when she comes back, in half an hour, excuse yourself, saying you've got an early start and head home. Don't wait up for me."

"You expect to go home with her? How am I to observe the rest?"

"This is just the first lesson. And don't think you're going to be observing to that level, ever!"

Sherlock nodded and duly made his excuses at the appointed time. He did, however, wait up for a while when he got home. John did not return so eventually Sherlock succumbed to tiredness combined with mild intoxication and actually went to bed.

His eyes snapped open when he heard the key in the lock. Reaching for his phone, he saw that it was just after 7am. He jumped out of bed, threw on his blue dressing gown and ran down to the sitting room, where John was hanging up his jacket.

"So Kate has a regular 9-5 job and you had to leave?"

"Yes. Luckily I don't, and I'm going back to bed," his voice was a little hoarse. Sherlock peered down at him and drew a breath.

"Your lips are roughened up, presumably from kissing. Your eyes suggest you had about 6 hours sleep but it wasn't refreshing, I imagine because you weren't in your own bed, combined with the wine you had, you've showered there – you smell like vanilla and we certainly don't have anything that would cause it. Would you call last night a successful endeavour?"

"You mean, did I sleep with her? Yeah, I did." John grinned, wondering if Sherlock was quite ready to engage in a traditional male "well done, you scored" type conversation.

"Was that a normal encounter for you or were you just showing off?"

"I'd say it was both," admitted John, still a tiny bit pleased with himself.

Sherlock nodded pensively and headed for the kitchen. John decided to go back to bed for a while. No doubt there'd be questions later.

He was not wrong.

Shortly after lunchtime, Sherlock launched his verbal attack.

"So will you see her again?

"Not this time."

"Why not? Was she unsatisfactory in bed?"

John glared at Sherlock. "No comment on that front. She's not long out of a relationship so isn't looking for anything. I can't continue to teach you properly if I have a girlfriend. It's hard enough keeping one with you around when you're not interested!"

"So what's next then?"

"We'll find a willing woman and you will practice on her."

"How will we know she's willing?" asked Sherlock. He really hadn't a clue.

"Ah, well, listen carefully because I will never say this again. You, my friend, are a beautiful man. And women are constantly coming on to you. It's just not on your radar so you don't notice."

"Oh," said Sherlock, a look of realisation crossed his face.

"What, or rather who, are you remembering?" John grinned.

"Molly. The first time we met. She was asking me out."

"Molly Hooper?! No. She can't keep a sentence together around you. Mind, it's only around you. She's perfectly normal and chatty when you go out for your secret smoke breaks."

"No, she did. She asked me if I'd like to have coffee."

"Don't tell me, you responded by telling her how you took it?"

Sherlock's silence said it all.

"Sherlock! Even for you, that's bad. You should make it up to her."

"You mean I should practice on her?"

"No!" John spluttered. "That's a terrible idea. She actually already fancies you. If you try to chat her up, she will misunderstand and then things will be awkward."

"What if I really wanted to chat her up?" asked Sherlock, trying to sound casual.

"Leave the jokes to me. We'll go to another wine bar tonight and you can take point. Oh, relax, you don't have to go home with anyone. I told you, you'll likely not get that far on your first attempt."

And the challenge was set.

At 8pm that evening, John and Sherlock were to be found at another wine bar. Sherlock had actually gone out and bought new clothes; he really wanted to get this right.

"If you don't mind, John, I'd rather not use my real name for this. It's too unusual and I wouldn't like my professional work derailed by gossip."

"That's fine. What should I call you?"

"Alexander, it's my middle name."

"How about just Alex?"

"If you insist."

They walked into the bar and Sherlock led John around the room. They sat down at a small table in the back beside two women who were clearly catching up after not having seen each other in a while. John grimaced inwardly at the idea of breaking up two friends but it was too late to say anything. Leaning over to discuss their order, Sherlock said "just go with me on this."

He adopted a far less posh London accent and sat back in his chair, legs spread wide.

"Alright, John. Tell me what happened."

"I don't want to talk about it?" asked John, trying to catch on.

"Amelia and you. What happened? I was expecting to have to write a speech any day now and then Jack tells me it's all off. You didn't cheat on her, did you?"

John hid his astonishment. He decided to say as little as possible until he had more of this story figured out.

"No, kind of the opposite."

"She didn't!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly, catching the attention of the two women at the table next to them.

"I'm afraid she did."

"Right. Here's some money, go get whatever you want, it's on me. Then we can talk about it. Or not. Whichever you prefer." He proffered a £50 note at John and motioned to the bar. John did as he was told. From his vantage point at the bar, John saw the two women engage Sherlock in conversation. Crafty bugger! Sociopath, my arse. He knew exactly what to say to get them interested in the conversation. John grabbed the bottle of wine and headed back to the table.

"And of course, none of us thought that she was really good enough for John but what could we say: he was blind towards her…"

One of the women nodded significantly and said in a warning tone "Alex…"

"Ah, John, good. Allow me to introduce Susan and Marie."

"Really sorry to hear about your break-up," said Susan or Marie sympathetically.

"Er, thanks. Alex is a good friend to bring me out and listen to me moan about it."

John found he was suddenly the centre of a bizarre tableau – the wronged man, the dear friend and the compassionate women. It was only surprising he'd never thought of it before as a pick-up. Shame he wasn't going to pull tonight with it. Sherlock was all the things he never was: charming, witty, fun, telling great anecdotes, mimicking celebrities. Who was this stranger?

As the barman called last orders, the ladies stood up to leave. Both wished John well and each managed to slip "Alex" her business card without the other noticing. Once they were gone, Sherlock dropped his act and held up the two cards.

"I think that went well."

"Absolutely. You paid attention. The act with the dumped friend was good – got them interested. A few more attempts like this and you'll be ready for a harder task."

"I'm sure I'm ready now."

"No, you have to trust me. And you did agree to do it my way."

Sherlock scowled all the way home.

The following day, John actually had some locum work so Sherlock decided to go down and check on his experiments at St. Barts. Once he got there, he remembered his recent realisation about Molly and their first meeting. As he sat at his microscope, he could see her across the room doing paperwork at her desk. He tried to focus on the slide but he kept glancing up at her.

Molly, as always, was acutely aware of Sherlock's presence.

"What's up, Sherlock?"

"Nothing, why?"

"You keep looking at me. Do I have something in my hair or are you just deducing last night's dinner from my skin tone?" She smiled at her own joke.

"I'm not looking at you."

"Yeah, you are." Molly stood up and marched over to him. "Stop it. It's weird. I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want some?"

Sherlock smiled at the opportunity, so unexpectedly in tune with his own thoughts.

"Actually, I wanted to say something." He held up a hand to stop her talking.

"When we met, you were asking me out on a date, weren't you?"

"What? No!" Molly took a step back and bit her lower lip. "Maybe."

"It's just that I didn't comprehend your meaning . A conversation with someone recently made me realise."

"I know."

"How did you know about our conversation? Oh you mean you knew I misunderstood?" Sherlock looked oddly relieved.

"Of course. When I ask someone out, he usually doesn't give me a coffee order in return."

"Do you ask men out a lot then?" asked Sherlock curiously.

"I did."

"Past tense?"

Molly pulled herself up to her full height and in her best Sherlock impression said:

"For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

Sherlock was stunned. He wasn't used to having his own words quoted back at him. Quietly, he said;

"Shall we have coffee?"

"Black, two sugars, I know," replied Molly, walking away.

Sherlock caught her arm and pulled her back to face him.

"I meant the other way…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews and follows. Chapter II starts immediately after the end of chapter I.**

Molly smiled broadly.

"Lovely. You know how I take it? White with one sugar. Thanks, Sherlock!"

She walked back to her desk leaving Sherlock impressively confused. How had that gone so wrong? He thought he was asking her out and she'd given him a coffee order. Was she just getting back at him? No, Molly didn't have any malice in her. He stood up and headed towards the nearest coffee machine. John was right, though he'd never admit it aloud, Sherlock still needed more lessons. No one else needed to know about this attempt today.

Later on, at home, John was busy in the kitchen. This was a good sign.

"What's for dinner?"

"Chicken cacciatore. This is a lesson, actually. If you're going to date women, you need to have 3 good dinners you can cook easily."

"Why?"

"Women love men who can cook, dance and express their emotions. We'll deal with each of these in turn. Don't look so terrified, I know there's emotion in there somewhere, and if all else fails, you can fake it. I've seen you turn on the waterworks when it suits your purpose."

"True. But in the interests of full disclosure, I should tell you that I can already dance."

John did not hide his surprise.

"Public school, John, they make you learn all kinds of ridiculous things."

"Well, great…I'm sure I'll need to hear about the other ridiculous things you learnt at school and didn't delete later but let's go back to cooking first. I'll teach you how to cook three dinners, you'll prepare them on your own a few times and then we'll have a dinner party."

"A dinner party?"

"Really, Sherlock, sometimes you are spectacularly dim. Yes, we invite our friends over, you'll cook, I'll entertain, it'll be fun."

"Who will we invite?"

"Haven't decided yet…Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly? I'm sure I'll find some nice young lady to bring as a date. Six is a good number. Any more than that and you can't have a group conversation. You will be on your best behaviour. Treat all the ladies like a project. They're already your friends so it won't kill you to be nice."

"That seems reasonable," agreed Sherlock. He was quite pleased at this suggestion. "Are we going to another bar tonight?" he continued.

"Nope. You've got the bar bit down. The next phase is what I call opportunistic chatting up. It's when you unexpectedly meet some gorgeous woman and have pull her immediately. So it could happen anywhere anytime."

"I don't understand. Why would you have to pull her immediately?" Sherlock looked baffled.

"Seriously, public school has a lot to answer for. Because women are fantastic and why wouldn't I want to spend time with them? If you've never walked past someone and thought "wow" this is going to be a much bigger challenge then I anticipated."

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"Hmm, I have thought things like that. Not recently. It always seemed kind of pointless."

"That's because you never had lessons from me. My army mates didn't call me "3 continents Watson" for nothing, you know!"

"Because you've been to 3 continents?"

"No, you idiot. Because I've scored lots of women across 3 continents. I tell you doctor in military uniform is an excellent combination. It's half the reason I joined the army."

"And the other half?" asked Sherlock dryly.

"Steady work, see the world…"

"So when will we have this dinner party?" said Sherlock, returning to the previous subject.

"Well, I should think 2 Fridays from now you should be passable in at least one dinner. I'll send everyone an email. Now come over here and try this sauce. Tell me all the ingredients."

"That actually is quite tasty. Why don't you cook like this all the time?"

"How many times do I have to explain that I'm not trying to come onto you? This sort of dinner is only for sealing the deal. It's way too much effort when there's takeaways that will deliver food to us!"

John continued: "So tomorrow, we'll go to the park and casually pick up people. You'll observe from a distance…it's not a wingman manoeuvre."

The next day was helpfully bright and fine. Sherlock followed John to Hyde Park. They had "borrowed" a wire from Lestrade on the pretext of doing some surveillance, so John was miked up and ready for Sherlock to listen.

"So I'll wander around until I select a suitable woman, you'll follow at an observable distance and watch. Now I'll just grab a newspaper as a prop."

"What is your objective with this sort of encounter?"

"Usually to get her number, and then set up a more personal date. It's mostly about creating a rapport so the woman feels comfortable enough to agree to meet you again. Women are much warier than they used to be."

"Right. Well, off you go."

John nodded and ambled off. Sherlock followed at a distance. John wandered around and eventually headed towards the Diana Fountain – a memorial to the late Princess Diana. Even Sherlock could see that women might walk past it and remember her tragic end. There were benches dotted around. John walked past it once and eventually sat down on a seat. It was unoccupied. He took out his newspaper and began to read. Sherlock cursed his inability to talk to John through the wire…which was just a listening device. What was the point of sitting there alone? Sherlock took up a position on the opposite side of the fountain and took out his phone. Oooh, email. Sherlock eagerly read through a pile of 4s and 5s and deleted most of them. One looked promising. When he next looked up, a woman had joined John on the bench. They obviously weren't speaking yet because Sherlock hadn't heard anything. As usual, Sherlock did his split-second deduction. He liked to practice on strangers. This woman was maybe 40, a widow, quite pretty, logic suggested she was unemployed because she was hanging around a park at 11am on a Tuesday but then, so were he and John. She'd just returned from somewhere abroad – she was too far away to tell where. Sherlock wondered what, if any, of these observations John would notice. He paid attention as John cleared his throat.

"Idiot!" he said.

"I'm sorry?" enquired the woman.

"Oh excuse me. I was talking to the newspaper. Cameron was an idiot to make those comments." John gestured to the headline. Sherlock thought it was rather a risk to start with politics but what did he know?

The woman smiled at John.

"I have to admit that I mix him and Nick Clegg up all the time. They look so alike!" she spoke with a distinct colonial accent.

John snorted with laughter.

"Come to think of it, you never do see them together! I'm John, by the way. What's your excuse for hanging around a park on a Tuesday morning then?"

"Mary – I've just returned from teaching in a Swiss finishing school so I'm unemployed. What's yours?"

"Same."

"Swiss boarding school?" said Mary, raising an eyebrow.

"No! Unemployed. I'm a doctor but have nothing steady – I do locum cover but it often gives me a day or two off each week."

"Do doctors get sick often then?"

"Yeah, always picking things up from their patients, occupational hazard."

Sherlock's attention wandered as the conversation descended into the mundane. This would be where he'd be likely to fail – he did not see the point of small talk ever. Of course, that explained how he had missed people asking him out before. Sometimes, they were really overt and he had his standard "I'm flattered but married to my work" speech ready for those occasions but he wondered how often he'd missed the more subtle attempts. Naturally his mind returned to Molly. Now that he had realised her original intention, her response to the rejection was quite good. Obviously he had become aware of her attraction later on but had always presumed she'd never gotten past the "mooning school girl" phase. Maybe she'd sucked it up and moved on. He respected her for it.

John's voice interrupted his reverie.

"Excellent, why don't we have some unemployed people's lunch next week and get to know each other a bit better?"

"I'd love to. Here's my number," replied Mary.

_Damn_ – Sherlock swore. He hadn't been paying attention and had missed the crucial phase. He wouldn't be getting a gold star from the teacher today.

A few minutes later, after Mary had walked away, John came and joined Sherlock on his bench. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

"Did you see her, Sherlock? She's beautiful."

"Did you ask her about her husband?"

"What husband? She's not married."

"No, widowed. Wearing an engagement ring on a chain around her neck. Looked old but I couldn't tell accurately from here."

"Whatever. Anyway, I got her number and we're going out next week. Did you hear how I did it?"

"Erm, no."

"Why not? Did the mike stop working?"

"Y-eees. I heard up to the part where you told each other your jobs. Or lack of them." Sherlock was thrilled to have his excuse provided.

"Right. Well, she's been out of the country for ages so I've offered to help reacquaint her with current affairs, etc. Doesn't seem to have any particular friends in London."

"Can she not read?"

"What? Oh Sherlock, it's just a polite excuse to see each other again. Neither of us is under any illusions. Come on, let's get of here. We need to go to the supermarket – I want to buy the ingredients for your next lesson. We're having a Thai green curry. And I need to compose an email for the dinner party – you can help with that."

Back at Baker St, John sat at his pc, drafting the email. He read it aloud to Sherlock.

Dear all,

Sherlock and I have decided to have a dinner party. He's cooking and I'm in charge of drinks. Don't worry: I've tasted what he's making and survived.

Friday week, our place: 8pm.

Hope you can make it.

John & Sherlock

"Do you have to make me sound like an idiot?" complained Sherlock.

"Yes. The last time you were terribly rude to Molly and then left your own party in a huff. We need to make up for it and it would be best if you were self-deprecating and humble."

John threw a dictionary at Sherlock and he reflexively caught it, holding it up in query.

"You can look up humble and self-deprecating. I know you won't be familiar with those words."

Molly read John's email with surprise. Sherlock could cook? Sherlock was willing to cook for others for no good reason? He must have done something awful to John to be punished thusly. She dashed off an affirmative to John and then a separate one to Sherlock.

Sherlock,

What ever did you do to John? I'm sure you'd rather sift through sewer slime than make pleasantries at a dinner party. None the less, I'll be there. You had better be nice to me this time.

Love,

M.

She re-read it for typos and hit send. It was much easier to be the bold, flirty woman by email than in person.

After reading the email, Sherlock was puzzled. Its tone was light and fun but it ended with a threat. It reminded him of texts from the Woman. He held it out to John for inspection.

"John, I just got this email from Molly. Is she flirting with me?"

John read the email.

"Yeah, she is. Unexpected. It seems she finds it easier to mock you by email."

"Should I reply?"

John raised an eyebrow.

"Surely there's some lesson here. Flirting is useful, right?"

"It's not a good idea to encourage Molly. We've talked about this before. I'm going to go start the dinner," added John, walking into the kitchen.

Sherlock stared at his phone. He wanted to reply. What harm was there in it? What was a suitable reply?

Molly,

Sewer slime is seriously under-rated but I'd rather have dinner with my friends. I shall do my very best to be nice to you. But just in case I fail, what sort of punishment did you have in mind?

S.

Sherlock reviewed his draft and smiled. It was rather good, even if he said so himself. He hit send and took up his violin.

Molly was elbow deep in an autopsy when she heard her phone beep so it was hours later, on the Tube home, that she got around to reading Sherlock's reply.

Holy cow! was her immediate response to it. If this was anyone, anyone else, she'd think it was genuine flirting. But it was Sherlock. She had fun imagining all kinds of penalties for him…some of them venturing dangerously into fantasyland. Once she was home, she replied a final time.

Sherlock,

Possible punishments include:

Morgue banishment for a week

Being nice to Anderson for a whole case

Taking me out for dinner _and_ you have to eat

But since you're going to behave, none of these hideous suggestions shall come to pass.

Molly

Sherlock was stirring a saucepan of green curry when he got her reply. Now there was a conundrum: behave badly and he could take her out to dinner and practice on her, but there'd be hell to pay from all the others. There had to be a way to do both…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

John thought Sherlock was an unexpectedly good pupil. His dinners were coming along nicely: he'd even made something new from a recipe book. So too were his pick-up skills. Sherlock had managed to pick up a woman in the park. It was just as well he wasn't using his own name: otherwise, the tabloids would start to get wind of this project. He hadn't actually progressed to following up and actually going on a date; Sherlock had even admitted he wasn't ready for that. John was relieved that he was willing to take it one step at a time.

The intervening fortnight had gone slowly. There hadn't been any good cases and a batch of new interns meant that Molly had no space for Sherlock to work at the hospital, so they hadn't seen each other in a while. He had not replied to Molly's final email: he didn't want to say the wrong thing. Instead, Sherlock had focussed on improving his cooking and pick-up skills. As usual, once he put his mind to a task, he excelled at them both. John was pleased.

"You know, Sherlock, after tonight's dinner party, I think we'll progress to the next phase with your lessons."

"And what, pray tell, will that entail?"

"Well, first you'll have to prove your dancing experience to me."

"I don't think this room is big enough for anything other than a waltz but I suppose we could give it a go."

"Not here! Not with me! No, we'll go to one of those old-fashioned dinner theatre places and practice there. I can always use a little brush-up. Maybe Mary would like to come..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John started in on his third "isn't Mary wonderful?" speech of the day. They had seen each other twice since the day in the park. Despite John's assertion that he wouldn't get involved while teaching Sherlock, he hadn't been able to stop himself. It was disgusting. And pathetic. And totally unmanly. And of course his deductions were right: she was widowed 2 years previously after only 4 years of marriage. No children. Father had been an army colonel and she'd grown up in a variety of former English colonies. The sound of his phone beeping interrupted his thoughts.

Looking forward to seeing you tonight.

Molly

X

Sherlock smiled happily. He hadn't seen Molly in ages. She was so reliable and helpful. He wondered what she'd wear: there was hardly ever an opportunity to see her dressed up. _Oh. Bloody. Hell. What has come over me?_ he thought.

"Sherlock, are you even listening to me?" called John.

"Something about Mary, was it?" guessed Sherlock.

"Well, yes, but you have no idea what it was, do you?"

"No, and I don't care. Oh look at the time," said Sherlock, not looking at his watch. "I've just got pop out and do some things. I'll be back around 3 to start preparing the dinner."

Sherlock was gone before John could even reply. He shrugged. It was time to do a serious clean-up of the flat anyway. Couldn't have Mary thinking they were slobs.

Molly was enjoying a serendipitous day off work. Having had the interns all week, Mike had offered to take them today and let her have some time to herself. Teaching was so much more tiring than normal work. You had to be "on" all the time. A decadent lie-in had preceded a treat breakfast at her local greasy spoon. She tried not to be too excited about the evening's dinner party but couldn't help herself. The sad fact was that having a demanding job and not having many friends meant there were far too few evenings out. She couldn't even remember the last time someone had invited her to a dinner party. Molly didn't want to be overdressed or over-enthusiastic, so naturally she had bought new clothes and had her hair cut, reasoning that the latter, at least, did need to be done. Grimacing at remembering Sherlock's deductions during their last party, Molly had chosen clothes that were a little more her, but figure-flattering and somewhat more glamorous than her usual attire.

She wasn't surprised that Sherlock hadn't replied to her final email the previous week: he probably got distracted by a case and completely forgot. It was a little weird of him to flirt like that: no doubt he'd expect some organ in return in the near future.

Sherlock spent the afternoon shoring up his homeless network contacts and gathering information that might be useful. Or at least that was what he would later tell John but really he was wandering around aimlessly wondering why he had agreed to take these ridiculous lessons from John, what the point of it all was and, embarrassingly, thinking about how much he was looking forward to seeing Molly that evening. A tiny voice in his head, which sounded like Mycroft, mocked him. Eventually, the mid-afternoon arrived and he headed for home to don an apron and start cooking. What had the world come to?

By the evening time, John had the flat looking cleaner than it ever had before and the table was set for 6. Sherlock was almost finished preparing an elaborate Chinese feast – having quickly mastered John's dishes, he felt the need to go one better. They had a brief scuffle over who could use the bathroom first: Sherlock won, and then one over the table placement, which John won. Sherlock was not allowed to eat his dinner on the couch: he was to sit at the table with the rest of the grown-ups. John insisted that they sit boy girl around the table, with him beside Mary, Sherlock beside Molly and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson at the two ends.

Mrs Hudson was, obviously, first to arrive.

"Oh boys, look at this tidy room. It hasn't been this clean since you moved in. There must be a young lady to impress: I know it's not down to my nagging."

"There might just be a young lady," said John, with a glint in his eye. "Now, can I get you a drink?"

The young lady in question arrived next and was introduced all round. John was so excited that Sherlock thought he might have to remember this one's name: at least for now. He'd undoubtedly muck it up sooner or later and then the whole thing could be deleted.

Greg and Molly arrived simultaneously. He was currently broken up with his wife and it was her turn with the kids: so he was glad to be going out for the evening. Apparently, kisses on cheeks were in order for dinner party behaviour. Sherlock had already endured one from Mrs Hudson but it was too soon for that nonsense with Mary. Molly came in, kisses all around, until she got to Sherlock, when she just said "hi" and didn't even attempt to kiss him. He didn't know whether to be put out or relieved.

"Something smells good," she went on.

"Well, yes, that would be the dinner," said Sherlock imperiously.

John broke the difficult small talk by handing Molly a glass of wine.

"Molly, I want you to meet Mary Morston. Mary, this is Dr Molly Hooper, she's one of our closest allies in crime fighting."

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Molly.

"Really, John, you make her sound like a spy! Ally? Couldn't you just say friend and work colleague?" teased Mary.

"Fair enough, Molly is our friend but we really couldn't do without her professional assistance either."

"And how did you meet John?" asked Molly politely.

"We were both hanging around in the park one day and got chatting."

"Really? That doesn't sound much like John."

Sherlock stepped in. "Well, you can't know a person's every habit, now, Molly. Will you taste this sauce and tell me if it needs more sugar?"

"Of course."

Sherlock held up a spoon and Molly opened her mouth. She touched his hand as she licked the spoon and closed her eyes briefly. He waited for her verdict, breathless between this unexpected display of pleasure and her touch on his hand.

"That is divine. It doesn't need anything."

"Good, that's very good," faltered Sherlock, words escaping him. Where was that dictionary now?

"Is it nearly ready?" she asked.

"Five more minutes on the rice and then we can eat," he replied.

"I never knew you could cook before, Sherlock."

"I can do everything I put my mind to."

"I shall keep that in mind," she said cheekily, and winked at him. The wine must already be effecting her, he thought as he turned back to the rice.

Molly was not the only one to compliment Sherlock's cooking. He was praised all round. John regaled the group with stories from his army days and Mary proved a witty sidekick, chipping in with anecdotes from growing up abroad. Everyone except Sherlock could see they were well on their way to a serious romance. He wasn't paying attention. Being this friendly and nice was taking all his effort. Despite their earlier disagreement, he was now glad John had insisted on this table configuration. Sitting beside Molly, rather than opposite her meant he didn't have to look at her all the time. In truth, he was rather distracted by her presence. The table was small and the heat of her body radiated towards him.

"So tell me, Sherlock, what's the point of tonight's dinner party? It's not like you to be sociable or accommodating," asked Lestrade.

"There's no particular point to it."

"That's not very nice of you, Greg, can't the boys just want to see their friends?" said Mrs Hudson, well on her way to tipsy.

"Not usually, no. Everything Sherlock does has an ulterior motive."

"Oh that's a bit harsh," said John, trying to dissolve the sudden tension, "when he plays the violin in the middle of the night, he isn't _trying_ to wake me: it's just a by-product!"

Everyone laughed.

"Why don't you play something for us now?" said Mrs Hudson.

"I cooked. John's email clearly said he was in charge of entertainment."

"It didn't. He was just in charge of drinks," challenged Molly.

"Oh go on, Sherlock, you love showing off!" added John.

"Alright, requests?" he said, obligingly.

"Do stuff from films," suggested Lestrade. "None of that classical shit!"

"Some classical music is excellent, Greg, don't be such a reverse snob!" said Molly, as Sherlock started to play the main theme from the Godfather.

Everyone had heard Sherlock perform before except Mary, but they were no less spellbound now as he played, apparently from memory, even though he would often claim he had no interest in music written post 1930.

When he got to the end, he took a small bow and put down the instrument.

"Wow. You're amazing. Why are you wasting your time solving crimes?" asked Mary. "You could be first chair in an orchestra."

"He doesn't want to," Molly answered for him. "He just plays for himself."

"I can speak for myself too!" said Sherlock, but not displeased. "If I was in an orchestra, I'd have to play things for other people's pleasure."

"You mean like you just did for us?!" laughed Greg.

"Well, there'd be more practicing too. It would suck the fun out of the whole experience. I can bear a small performance every now and then."

"In that case, play us the Schindler's List music then," Mrs Hudson demanded.

"That's much too sad," began John.

But Sherlock had already resumed his position and started. A relatively short piece: it still managed to pack an emotional punch.

Mrs Hudson wiped a tear away. "Alright, I'm done in – I'll head off now. Thank you for indulging us, Sherlock, dear."

He nodded.

Greg stood up to leave as well. "This has been great but I've got to work tomorrow so I'll see myself out."

The remaining four looked at each other. John scrambled for an excuse to keep Mary there longer.

"It's quite early: why don't we play a board game or something?" he suggested.

"Oh that sounds fun, what do you have?" said Mary.

John went to the shelves. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Molly just stood there, hoping no one had noticed she was still in the room.

"We've got Cluedo but we can't play that. Sherlock had a little incident the last time. Monopoly? Scrabble? Oh, what about Jenga?"

"I'm really good at Jenga: surgery, you know," piped up Molly.

They all turned to her and she briefly _thought oh god they want me to leave_…

"Jenga it is," said Sherlock. His competitive streak was legendary.

"How about we make it a little more fun? We've all been drinking so I think there should be forfeits for toppling over the tower," proposed Mary.

"John looks thrilled at your idea, presumably because he was imagining forfeits might involve kissing or stripping, Mary," hazarded Sherlock.

"Sherlock! That's not true, Mary. Although, I wouldn't mind that at all."

"Yes, well, Molly's gone a fierce shade of red at the very notion so I think she's probably against it. What about shots and food-related penalties instead?" said Sherlock. It was a sentence he never thought he would utter.

"Perfect." Molly picked up a bottle of whiskey on the sideboard and some shot glasses.

She knelt down on the floor by the coffee table giving everyone else an eyeful of her cleavage. Sherlock wasn't used to, well, any sort of cleavage at all so he stared for a fraction too long before John nudged him in the ribs.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, Sherlock, budge up there, make room for the rest of us."

"No thanks, I'll sit on the floor. Two people on a couch is quite enough."

Five minutes into the first game and John managed to knock over the tower.

"Here's your shot, John!" Molly passed over a glass and he obliged by downing it quickly.

"This is horrible whiskey."

"Well, I'm hardly going to allow shots with the 20 year old Glenlivet," retorted Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn't smiling when his turn came to do a shot. In fact, quite soon, everyone except Molly had had a couple.

"Molly, you certainly weren't lying!" said Mary. "I think we should make you do a forfeit anyway."

"That's not fair!"

"Oh, I dunno, I quite like this idea. But I'm getting bored of shots all the time. It's just making us worse and her better. Let's make her try to get a crisp from her forehead into her mouth without using her hands," John said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Mary clapped her hands together with excitement.

"But I haven't knocked over the tower! I would totally do whatever you wanted if I did," protested Molly.

The game progressed and Molly continued to be excellent. This small boost of confidence had helped her overcome her usual stuttering around Sherlock and she was quite proud of herself. On the other hand, he quite wanted to see her contort herself by playing John's penalty so when it was next her turn, he ever so slightly cheated and shoved the table an imperceptible amount. The Jenga tower fell over.

"Oh bugger!" exclaimed Molly in a most unladylike manner. She smiled sheepishly. "Shot?"

"No, do the crisp thing. I've been trying to work out how anyone could do it. There could be science in it," said Sherlock, now sounding just a little bit tipsy, at last.

Molly giggled nervously and agreed. John ceremoniously handed her a large curved crisp. She leaned back, extended her neck and placed the crisp on her forehead. They all leaned forward to observe.

She talked to herself as she tried to figure it out.

"Right, I think if I just…" and she flexed her forehead muscles. The crisp began to move. Mary let out an encouraging "you go girl" as she helped herself to a complimentary shot. Next Molly's eyebrows came into play and the crisp moved precariously. "Damn!" She tipped her head to the side, affording a lovely side view of her neck for Sherlock, who was still on the floor beside her. Then she did a little _Bewitched_ twitch of her nose and brought out her tongue, which rose in the air to try and get hold of the crisp. After a few more seconds, she had the crisp on the tip of her nose and jerked her head forward to catch it on her tongue.

There was a chorus of cheers from the couch. Sherlock was very impressed. He knelt up and threw his arms around her and kissed her quickly on the mouth.

"Well done. I didn't think you would make it there at the end," he said, slurring his words a little. "You taste like crisps!" Then he let go and started setting up the tower again.

John watched in amazement. Molly was dumbfounded. Mary watched, realising she was seeing something but not quite getting the dynamic. After a minute, Molly shrugged it off and got up to get a glass of water. John initiated a swift and furious attempt at telepathy with Sherlock, which unfortunately didn't work. Damn Jedi mind tricks, he was still not over them not being real. _Follow her into the kitchen, you idiot!_

"Why are you winking at me, John?" said Sherlock loudly.

"I'm not winking at you, I've got something in my eye."

"Oh do you, let me help you," said Mary obligingly.

"Yes, would you, come into the bathroom, there's better light."

John quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room. Molly came back in just after.

"Where are they gone? Finally had to be alone?" she laughed.

Sherlock looked at Molly.

"Another game?" he offered.

"No thanks, I've sobered right up. Need to preserve my reputation. Surgeons shouldn't lose at Jenga!"

"Or Operation," he joked weakly.

"Quite," she said, rather primly. "I'll just be off now. Thanks for a lovely party. Will you tell John and Mary goodbye for me?"

"Of course. Goodnight."

Molly almost ran out the door. Sherlock watched from the window as she hailed a taxi and drove off. He then sat back down on the couch.

_I am infected with some John-like illness,_ he thought. _These lessons have turned me into an idiot and now I am kissing women over them._ "John!" he called out. "I'm done with these lessons."

But John wasn't listening because he'd finally managed to get his girl alone and had far more pressing concerns.

Molly was relieved she'd held herself together but now she was in the cab, she trembled almost uncontrollably. _So that was two for two. Two parties at Baker St, two kisses from Sherlock. Only this time, she was the one to run away. Well what else could she do? He was obviously drunk. Taking advantage wasn't a consideration. Oh god, his next visit to the morgue would be torture…._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV: Hangovers & Hang-ups**

John awoke in his own bed but was not alone. He grinned at the sight of the sleeping Mary beside him. They never had made it back to the sitting room after his "something in my eye" routine. Of course, he wasn't anticipating the actual result when he initiated it but was certainly not complaining. John gently pressed a kiss to Mary's forehead.

"Good morning."

"Hello," she said sleepily, putting her arms around him. "I wasn't intending to stay last night…."

"Are you sorry?"

"Not at all. You are rather distracting."

"In a good way?"

"Of course! In fact, I'd quite like to be distracted again, right after I run out to the bathroom…"

"Be my guest. Just be quiet when you walk past Sherlock's room: he's sure to be more hung over than we are: doesn't drink often," warned John.

"Yes, I did want to ask you about that. Him kissing Molly…you all looked like it was an enormous deal when it was obviously just a celebratory thing."

"No…no, huge, massive deal actually. A) He's rarely drunk. B) He doesn't really do hugs or kisses at all. C) Molly fancies him. D) He knows it and doesn't normally care. E) There's going to be major fallout. F) I don't even know what happened after we left, I faked having something in my eye….I wanted to leave them alone." John drew a deep breath.

"Right, well, that's a lot to process when I'm bursting for the loo, so I shall return anon," said Mary with a smile.

***anHan

Molly awoke at a reasonable hour. She wasn't that hung over, having had nowhere near the amount of alcohol the others had consumed. But she hadn't slept well. The rather abrupt end to the evening played over and over in her mind. _He_ kissed me! He kissed _me_! What did it mean? Probably nothing. But then he always had an ulterior motive. But surely not at a party? If it had been anyone else, she would have just assumed it was the board game equivalent of football players hugging when they scored a goal. Sherlock didn't kiss people. And now he had kissed her twice. Ok, twice in 2 years…it was hardly time to buy interior design magazines. Her stomach churned at the idea of seeing him again soon. Of course, she shouldn't feel this way: he kissed her…in theory, it should be worse for him… It was fine: she would be cool and relaxed about it. At least, externally.

Sherlock awoke, rather unusually, in his own bed. Most nights he dozed off on the couch. Approximately two seconds later, he groaned_. I'm dying_, he thought. _This is what it feels like. I'll die from the lack of a glass of water. Footsteps outside!_ Not John's but he called out anyway.

"John!"

There was a timid knock at his door and it opened. A dishevelled Mary appeared wearing John's dressing gown.

"Sherlock? Sorry to wake you."

"You didn't…but since you are here, will you get me some water…I am dying."

"I can do that. But there's no sympathy for self-inflicted pain!"

"I did not plan the pain part," he replied pitifully.

Mary returned with a glass of water. She sat down on the edge of his bed. Sherlock moved away. Who was this interloper?

"Are you one of those drunks who forgets part of the evening?"

Sherlock drained the water greedily and forced himself to look up at her.

"Of course not."

"Oh that's a shame. I suspect John was looking forward to reminding you of how you kissed Molly. He'll probably do it anyway. I'll be getting back to him now…"

She pulled the door and then popped her head back around it.

"By the way, Sherlock? Hangovers pass, but consequences are forever," she said ominously.

Sherlock rolled away from the door. Perhaps he could just stay here forever.

Mary went back upstairs.

"Did I hear voices?" asked John.

"Yes, brief chat with Sherlock…he was desperate for some water. Hasn't forgotten last night."

"Did you ask him what happened?"

"Certainly not, I'm just his flatmate's one night stand…not his therapist!"

"You are much more than a one night stand. I think I'd quite like if you were an every night stand."

Mary smiled and got back into the bed.

A few hours later, John saw Mary out the door and caught up with Sherlock for the first time that day.

He was lying on the couch, holding but not playing his violin and watching recorded episodes of Jeremy Kyle.

"How are you feeling?" asked John.

"Terrible but I can tell from your voice that you haven't come down from post-coital glow yet. Please go away."

"And how's your hangover?"

"Oh, aren't you funny?"

"Yes, I am. Now what are we watching?"

"It's that idiot again….he knows nothing."

"You aren't actually obliged to watch it, you do realise?"

"Yes, but it makes me feel better."

"Hmm, so do you want to talk about it?"

"About you and Mary's bedroom activities? Certainly not. I heard enough!"

John coloured a little and then remembered he had the upper hand here.

"I could give you a detailed description, I'm sure it would be edifying, but I'd much rather hear what happened with you and Molly after we retired."

"Nothing happened."

"Nothing at all?" confirmed John, aghast.

"She came back in, saw you were gone, decided to leave, and did so."

"You idiot!"

"_I'm_ an idiot. How?"

"Sherlock, you should have done one of the two following scenarios. Number 1: you apologised profusely for kissing her, toying with her emotions like that and begged for forgiveness. Number 2: you swept her up in your arms and kissed her again. But I can see from the look on your face that you chose neither of these options and therefore you are, as I said, an idiot."

"I don't beg for forgiveness, anymore than I do for mercy, John. Molly is a grown woman."

"So why are you behaving like a little boy then? Do you realise she might be so confused that banning you from the morgue might seem like the best option?"

Sherlock blanched at the notion.

"Here's what you'll do. You apologise. No, I don't care whether you think it's appropriate or not, you apologise, and pray to the god of science that things go back to normal. Unless you actually want to pursue her, and by that I mean that you have genuine romantic feelings for her. If so, we'll think of an entirely different plan."

"Out of interest, what would the latter entail?" asked Sherlock.

John raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm, well, it would still start with apologising…and that's all I've got so far but seriously why are we even discussing what is obviously a hypothetical option?"

"I'll have to consider both options carefully."

"You do that while you start washing dishes. I'm going to the shops."

For once, the detective was obedient. He'd never let anyone realise but sometimes washing dishes was conducive to thought. It was simple and repetitive so the mind could easily pursue other thoughts. In this case, it meant thinking about a certain petite pathologist. He could pretend otherwise to John but to himself he had to admit an interest – a romantic interest. Sherlock threw down the tea towel in disgust. He was supposed to be above all this nonsense. But then why, said the Mycroft voice, did you agree to lessons from John? Ah, well, there was that case…. What if he finished the lessons now? Just dropped out. It could be like university again. No…that way led to waking up in unexpected places with strangers because they had cocaine. So it was clear: it was either Molly or back to his old ways? Oh that's not good. Even Sherlock knew it. Surely there was a middle ground. What if he told Molly that they both needed to go along on this "date" as friends to help out John and Mary? Yes, make it clear to her that it was just social and let John think whatever he wanted. Yes, brilliant! But John would never go for it. It would first necessitate a talk with Mary, then Molly. Both best accomplished solo.

Sherlock ran out of the kitchen to get dressed. The dishes were entirely forgotten.

It was Saturday so Molly was not at work again. In fact, she wasn't doing much of anything. Sitting around on the couch, reading, petting Toby and only getting up to make tea every now and then. She was doing her level best not to freak out (any further) about the kiss. So it didn't help when Sherlock came knocking on her door.

"How did you get into the building?"

His look said _don't be stupid_. "Can I come in?"

"What are you doing here? I thought you be lolling about hung over…"

Sherlock reiterated his request for entry and Molly allowed him inside.

"Do you want some tea?"

"No, thank you."

Sherlock seemed momentarily steeling himself up for something – weird. He stood there.

"Sit down," Molly gestured towards the armchairs.

He perched on one, almost as if he might catch something from it.

"It's not that uncomfortable…"

"No, it's your cat. I'm allergic to them."

"Oh crap, sorry!" Molly scooped up Toby and threw him into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Sorry. Nothing I can do about the cat hair but…"

"Thank you."

"So what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night."

Molly shrugged.

"There's nothing to apologise for, Sherlock. It might not be normal behaviour for you but a celebratory hug and kiss is entirely acceptable between friends."

"Right. Ok." He was surprised. He looked a little closer. Breathing elevated. Not looking him in the eye – hardly new though. She's doing her best to cover up her real thoughts. Ha and she nearly got me too. Definitely not drinking again any time soon. Alright, if she wants to play it like that, it's best for both of us.

"There's something else I wanted to ask."

"I'm not going into work today. It's my day off!"

"Oh, no. It's for John really."

"Then why isn't he asking himself?"

"I was coming over to see you anyway so…"

"Fair enough. What is it?" Molly reached for tea, took a sip, realised it was cold and spat it back into the mug. Oh charming, she thought to herself…he'll be so turned on by that display.

"Yes. Em. Well, John and Mary spent the night together last night and I think it's going to be serious so he wants us to go out with the two of them so we can get to know her better," said Sherlock, getting it all out in rush before he lost his nerve.

"Go out, you mean like to the pub? She must be really special if you are making this effort."

"It'll be a bit fancier than that – he really wants to impress her…there's some place, a dinner place where you do dancing afterwards…"

"Really? I..I..guess that would be ok. When?"

"Excellent. I mean, I don't know. John will text you with details."

"Will you also get him to give me Mary's number, please?"

"Of course. Why?"

"So I can get to know her, you idiot."

"Funny, that's the second time someone's called me that today."

"John?"

"How did you know?"

"Wild guess," said Molly wryly.

"One other thing, Molly?"

"She, I mean Mary, might be under the impression that we're on a double date. John doesn't want to her to think she's on some sort of interview for approval. Is that, would that be alright?"

"Are we going on a double date?" asked Molly, her voice suddenly quiet.

"No, no, we'll just pretend a bit to calm Mary's nerves."

"Fine, I suppose." Molly cast about the room looking for something, anything to either cut the conversation short or make him stay.

"I'll head off home so. We're alright?"

"Fine," she repeated, walking him to the door.

Sherlock inclined his head towards hers, as if to kiss her again, and then suddenly remembered himself, and looked horrified.

"Right, well, see you during the week," he said with a false show of cheer.

_He is an idiot_, thought Molly, now back on the couch. _Something is going on here and I intend to find out what it is._

_I am an idiot_, thought Sherlock, as he walked outside and hailed a cab.

Sherlock went straight to Mary's apartment. It was in a quite dingy part of the East end. Mary was very surprised to see him.

"Sherlock. What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?" She looked behind him for John.

"I'm alone, Mary…and I got your address from John's email. He doesn't know I'm here."

Mary looked worried: she clearly thought there was something wrong with John.

"Oh, it's not about John. I need your assistance. May I come in?"

Mary opened the door and ushered him in.

Her flat was little more than a bedsit. This time he took the offered cup of tea. Not knowing Mary as well as he did the others, it was best to observe some social niceties, which led Sherlock to his second apology of the day.

"Mary, I apologise for being so rude this morning…I was feeling awful."

"That's quite alright, Sherlock, we've all been there. But you haven't come all this way for to say sorry…"

"No. It's about Molly. She and I have something of a history, in that she has been attracted to me for a long time and I ignored her."

"Yes, John explained."

Sherlock knew he needed to play this just right, so he employed some of his finely honed acting skills.

"I may not have been entirely honest about my disinterest in her. I've recently begun to realise that I do have feelings for her," he said, worrying his lower lip.

"I see…and now you think it's too late to change your mind?"

"Well, no, I don't, but I'm not sure how to accomplish it without her thinking I have an ulterior motive. I may have played on her affection one too many times in the past."

"Sherlock, this is all well and good but I don't see how I can help you, or even if I want to."

Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed her hand.

"Molly doesn't have a lot of female friends. I was thinking some kind of evening out with the four of us might put her in a more relaxed mood around me."

"You want us to go on a double-date?"

"Exactly!" Sherlock's real personality momentarily reasserted itself before he resumed the character.

"But it would be better if she thought it was a "get to know Mary" event for John's benefit."

"Oh, right. Are you sure you need all of these machinations? Couldn't you just have a chat with her?"

"Of course I intend to talk to her but first I need to get her used to seeing me socially. Please will you help?"

Sherlock looked down at his hands and wrung them. He really was playing a blinder here.

"Of course I will. Should I ask John to set it up?"

"Would you? I'd be so grateful, Mary. But one other thing, could you perhaps not tell John that this was my real plan? Maybe just let him think you wanted to get to know us all better. He can be an awful tease. You know, he talks about you all the time, I feel I like I know you so well already…"

Sherlock sucked it up as he listened to Mary talk about how wonderful John was for 10 more minutes before taking his leave.

By the time he came home, John was back. He was on the phone to Mary.

"….really? I'm quite surprised to hear that, Mary. No, it's fine. Yeah, yes, ok. Bye. No, you hang up. Well, you didn't either….ok, I'm really going, bye."

He finally hung up the phone.

"So you went over to my girlfriend, apologised and asked her out? I have to admit I did not expect this from you. That was very nice."

"I thought I should make an effort since you are clearly falling for this one."

"I am not."

"Please, I overheard that disgusting "you hang up, no you hang up" just now…you're well on the way."

"Maybe…anyway, Mary wants us all to go out."

"I'm not sure I fancy being a spare tyre with the 2 of you in a pub somewhere, John."

"You won't….she wants Molly to come as well. Speaking of which, did you apologise to Molly too?"

"Actually, I did. She was very calm about it, said of course she understood. Everything is as it should be. She thought it was a perfectly normal celebratory kiss, which it was."

Under normal circumstances, John might have questioned Sherlock longer on this subject but he was so wrapped up in his own love life that he dropped it.

"Right, well, perhaps I will get to assess your dancing skills after all. Since you and Molly are just back to being friends, we can go to that dinner dance place I like."

"That's a good idea, John," grinned Sherlock.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V: Lying to everyone**

**A/N: A brief note to thank everyone reading, commenting and following…there's nothing like the positive affirmation that writing fanfic brings. Thanks to my beta, Thinkswithpen, for all her help and advice. And so on to chapter V, where we see how Sherlock juggles his tissue of lies. Part of me wishes this chapter could be a film, as editing would be fun and narration would be helpful.**

Sherlock lay on the couch in his familiar thinking pose. It was going to take all of his considerable brain power to pull off this level of duplicity.

Lie no 1: Molly thought that John wanted Mary to spend more time with all of them so everyone could to know each other better but so Mary doesn't feel uncomfortable, it was a pretend double-date.

Lie no 2: Mary thought that Sherlock wanted to pursue Molly but under the cover of getting to know everyone better so John would not tease him.

Lie no 3: John thought Mary wanted to get to know everyone better. Presumably actually true.

Lie no 4: Sherlock was doing all of this so that he would be better at solving cases. Instead of actually just being interested in a girl.

The crux of the issue was keeping John and Molly apart. They both knew him well and there was a small chance in talking that John would work out some or all of the lies. With that in mind, Sherlock decided to focus on cases where murder or death were not involved, thus avoiding visits to St. Barts with John. There was a missing person case in this morning that looked promising.

Meanwhile, John started to plan their night out. He made reservations at The Cabaret, a 50s style dinner and late night dance club with live music. He sent email instructions to both ladies on the venue.

Mary rang up Molly to discuss the outing. After the usual toing and froing of two relative strangers talking on the phone for the first time, they got down to business.

"Do you think we should go vintage or just dress normally?"

Molly chewed her lower lip in thought.

"I think vintage. I actually have a 50s sort of prom dress – a bit like Lily Allen might wear, you know? Used to use it when I took swing dancing lessons. I'd love to put my hair in a bouffant but it really needs someone else to do it for me."

"Sounds fab. I'll have to find something. Great thing about being unemployed: there's plenty of time for shopping. About the hair, why don't you go to a hairdresser?"

"Gosh, I never considered that. I never think of going just to get my hair done – I'm kind of a cut and blow-dry person."

"Well, this can be your first up-style."

They rang off after arranging a day to meet and do some shopping.

A good start, thought Mary. Molly was in need of a small makeover and Mary's main thrill in life was makeovers. How to do it without insulting – this she'd have to think about.

"So Sherlock, are you looking forward to our evening out with the ladies on Saturday?"

"Not particularly, John. It'll no doubt be a tedious evening of small talk. But I did promise to do as you asked in this instance so don't worry, I'll be on my best behaviour."

"That's right, mate, get all the unpleasantness out now because I want you to seriously turn on the charm when we meet them. Pretend it's for a case or whatever works for you. Mary told me they've decided to dress in vintage outfits."

Sherlock rounded to face John. "You don't actually want us to do that too, do you? I'm not going to some costume shop to rent a suit other people have been sick in."

"Relax, I told them we'd just look smart."

"You mean, you'll look smart, and I'll look the same as usual."

"Whatever," said John through gritted teeth.

"You know, John, I think this should be my final lesson. You're much too caught up with Mary to properly teach now, and I'm sure I have the basics."

"Well, yes, in theory. God help the world if you ever decided to use them on an actual woman for your benefit."

"You wound me."

"At any rate, I'm glad Mary and Molly have been spending some time together. Mary doesn't know many people in London," added John.

As usual, Sherlock was glad John couldn't read minds for if he could, he would encounter a very different tone. Sherlock was excited about the night out with Molly. There would be all sorts of opportunities to impress her.

At that moment, the two newly formed chums were having coffee in Bloomsbury, revival drinks after a morning of shopping along Oxford St. In truth, Molly hadn't needed anything for her outfit but she went along with the plan. Always nice to make new friends and shopping was a great way to have a laugh with a new person. She'd introduced Mary to the concept of "skirt or top?" in Miss Selfridge's. Player 1 would hold up some scrap of material meant for teenagers. Player 2 would guess whether it was a skirt or a top. Mary in turn had amused Molly with stories of how culturally different shopping was in the African countries she'd lived in. Mary had also a bought a retro-50s style evening dress with a matching bag.

"I still think you need a bolero or something to go over the dress, Mary," said Molly. "Why don't you come over to mine to get ready on the night? I've got a couple of things that might be suitable."

"Alright, I'll bring the wine, and we can help each other with our make-up," said Mary.

"Excellent, it's a pre-date date!"

"So tell me, now that we're great friends. Sherlock and you. What's going on there?"

Molly briefly hid her face in her hands before looking up to meet Mary in the eye.

"Oh nothing. I fancy the pants off him and he's, well not entirely asexual, but not interested at all in anyone. A few people at the hospital think he's gay – he's definitely not."

"Well, as an outsider, I am uniquely placed to form new opinions about your group dynamic. I don't want to get your hopes up unnecessarily but I feel duty bound to say that I noticed him checking out your cleavage at the dinner party, and he did kiss you!"

"Yeah, he was probably just confirming an earlier opinion that my boobs are too small," said Molly glumly.

"Please tell me he did not say that to you."

Molly briefly relayed the previous year's Christmas party events.

"What a total arsehole. Too clever to notice that you were dressed up for him. But, on the plus side, he did notice in great detail."

"Mary, once you know him better, you'll realise he notices everything. He almost knows things before you do. He told one of my interns she was pregnant before she knew herself!"

"Honestly, you'd think at his age, he'd have learned to rein in those sort of comments."

"Nope. I think he must have been raised in a barn by incredibly rude pigs."

"Are you sure you fancy him? You're not painting a great picture here. I mean, I only have to put up with him as my boyfriend's flatmate."

"Ha! We'll come back to you calling John your boyfriend in a minute. Don't you realise that John already has a boyfriend called Sherlock?"

Mary looked shocked.

"Oh no….an entirely platonic boyfriend…like a gay best friend, no that's worse. What I'm trying say, very inarticulately, is that they live in each other's pockets, John is Sherlock's conscience, moral compass, biggest fan and social navigator."

"So they're kind of a package deal?"

Mary pursed her lips.

"Well, I didn't exactly sign up for two boyfriends but we'll see how it goes!"

"I'll have one of them for you," said Molly with a giggle.

"You're not having John!"

"Deal!"

Saturday afternoon arrived. Molly took herself off to the hairdressers to get a bouffant. Mary packed up her new outfit, make-up and accessories and bought nice wine to share with Molly. John polished his shoes and confirmed their evening reservations. He sent a sickeningly sweet text to Mary. Sherlock behaved exactly as normal. He played his violin. He moaned about not having a case. He considered starting smoking again and thought better of it.

"Sherlock, Mary says she and Molly are getting ready together. We should pick them up in a taxi."

"For what? They're perfectly well able to meet us at the venue."

"It's gentlemanly. I want Mary to have a good impression of us."

"You do realise we're not actually going through a wormhole in time?"

"It's nice to be nice. I've told them we'll pick them up at Molly's."

"Whatever."

"Remember..."

"Yes."

"You don't even know what I was going to say…"

"Yes, I do. Don't be mean, Sherlock. Don't blurt out observations. Haven't I excelled at your previous lessons? What makes you think I'll revert to type now?"

"Well, hmm, everything I know about you? And also, I sometimes think Molly brings out a different side of you."

Sherlock almost physically flinched. "How?" he demanded.

"You're jealous around her."

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are, I mean you don't realise it clearly but to give you two examples. When we first met Moriarty, in the lab? You were jealous of her being happy. You covered it well by pretending to be kind but we both know what it was really about. Another example? Our Christmas party, you saw her dressed up, jumped to conclusions about her having a boyfriend, and went straight past the obvious."

"Please do not remind me of that."

"Good to know you have a conscience, mate. Just remember her feelings tonight…try not to encourage her. Though how you ever encouraged in the first place, I do not understand. Tonight's all about Mary feeling comfortable with us. Now go get ready," John dismissed.

"I never intended to encourage her…" said Sherlock, adding "before" in his head.

Finally it was time to go. Both men were looking handsome and well-groomed. John texted Mary their ETA after consultation with the walking traffic report that was his flatmate, and they set off.

Molly and Mary were most of the way through a bottle of Dutch courage.

"Your hair is fantastic, Molly. They really did a great job," said Mary.

"I'm so pleased with it. I've worn this dress before but the hairstyle makes it. And you look fantastic. John is going to drop dead when he sees you."

oOo

The guys arrived outside Molly's apartment block.

"You go in and get them, I'll hold the cab," suggested Sherlock.

"No, that's terribly rude…we'll both go in, I'm sure he's quite happy to wait with the meter running…"

The cab driver readily agreed and Sherlock reluctantly got out. They rang the doorbell and gained admittance.

Mary opened the door.

"Wow, Mary. You look amazing." Her scarlet cocktail dress showed a nice amount of leg John pulled her into a quick hug and a kiss. Sherlock stood glowering behind him in the doorway.

"You scrub up nicely. Molly's just finishing up. I'll go get her."

John and Sherlock glanced around Molly's apartment.

"Don't do it."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't deduce her apartment out loud."

"You forget this is not my first visit here. I've already filed it all away, so you are saved…" Sherlock broke off as Mary returned with Molly.

Molly was wearing an emerald green and black patterned 50s style prom dress with a narrow leather patent belt. Her shoulders were bare except for an elegant string of black pearls. She wore sensible strappy-sandal heels and had a small capelet over her arm. Her lovely hair was swept up in a pouffy hairstyle. She was breathtaking, so it was a shame that the best Sherlock could come up with in terms of a compliment was:

"Molly, this suits you much better than your usual style of dress."

Luckily, Molly was willing to take what she could get from him, as John and Mary both looked on in dismay.

"Hardly practical for autopsies though!" joked Molly. "Shall we?" she continued, jiggling her keys.

The foursome set off. The taxi ride was mercifully short. John and Mary talked happily. Molly smiled along with their conversation but neither she nor Sherlock said much. Their eyes flicked towards each other every now and then, only to look away when they caught the other's.

The Cabaret was housed in a Victorian theatre, converted for the purpose. The entrance hall was filled with gilded mirrors and red velvet. Inside, the group was shown to a booth table, far enough from the stage that music would impinge on conversation but near enough to still see properly. Mary immediately dragged Molly to the bathroom leaving the two men alone.

"Why do women always do that?" asked Sherlock.

"It's usually born of their obsessive need to over-analyse."

"In this case, I imagine it's the bottle of wine they consumed while they were getting ready. Molly looks stunning, you should have come up with a better compliment," chided John.

Sherlock toyed with the idea of admitting she'd momentarily robbed him of speech but dismissed it as sentimental and likely to lead to questions, and, worse, teasing. John busied himself with ordering some wine while Sherlock looked around. He supposed it did have an olde-worlde charm but since it was a modern construction, nothing was too dingy.

As the ladies returned, the small orchestra struck up a waltz.

"Oh John, let's dance," cried Mary.

"I really should catch up on alcohol consumption beforehand…but what the hell."

He dragged Mary off to the dance floor.

Molly stood there for a second and then sat down. Belatedly, Sherlock said:

"Did you want to dance too?"

"No thanks. I'm not good at waltzes – more of a rock-n-roll type dancer."

Sherlock regarded her curiously.

"Waltzes require little effort for the woman, she just follows."

"Well, true, but that only works if the man knows how to dance, and most don't. I see John must have had lessons at some stage though because he's managing nicely. Wouldn't have expected the army to give training in that!"

Sherlock didn't like the implication that he couldn't dance, so he abruptly stood up and extended his hand.

"Come on…how hard can it be?"

Molly inclined her head and followed him to the dance floor. They stood face to face, their usual height difference somewhat mitigated by Molly's heels. Sherlock placed a hand on her back and reached for her left hand.

"Just do as I do," he whispered.

"Except backwards and high heels – I know how to waltz: I'm just not good at it!" she retorted.

Molly allowed herself to be led by a surprising proficient partner. Seeing the look on her face, he explained that public school taught you all sorts of unexpected things.

"I can even dance the female part, if I have to!" he joked.

Both Sherlock and Molly were too caught up in their thoughts to make conversation for most of the number. She was struggling to remain calm while being held by a man she'd wanted for literally years. Of course she knew they were here as friends for Mary and John's sake but it didn't stop her heart from racing. He was bursting to make comments about other couples in the room but, remembering his primary plan, thought it best to keep quiet, at least while they were alone. With his hand between her shoulder blades, he was touching her bare skin, which felt soft and smooth. Sherlock settled for gazing into her eyes, which Molly clearly found both unusual and uncomfortable. She broke the contact and looked down at her feet.

"You don't want to look at me?" he ventured.

Molly thought about covering by saying she needed to watch what she was doing but realised he'd know it was a lie.

"It's just a bit strange, Sherlock. You are behaving quite out of character. In all the time I've known you, I never thought I'd be out for the evening with you dancing…even if it is just for John and Mary's sake."

"Perhaps it is out of the ordinary for me but I hope it's not unpleasant?"

The music ended as he spoke, and she looked up at him with her sparkly smile. People clapped their appreciation for the band and made their way back to their seats. They rejoined Mary and John at their table. John nodded encouragingly at Sherlock.

"Very nice, Sherlock…I was watching you. I wonder why you never deleted the ability to dance though…can't imagine you thought it would be useful for crime detection," he teased.

"It has its uses." Sherlock certainly had mysterious down: no one could ever say otherwise.

A young couple passed by: the lady giggling. Sherlock twitched. John knew the look.

"Go on, then, I know you're dying to comment on your observations," he said in an exasperated tone.

"Mary, you've not seen Sherlock's parlour trick before, have you?" he added.

She shook her head.

"It's not a parlour trick," retorted Sherlock, before performing it anyway. "I'll start with the couple who just passed us: high-priced escort employed by the club; he's a minor aristocrat."

"How can you tell?" asked Mary.

"Shoes…you can always tell by the shoes. That group of men over there? One reporter, undercover, 3 mid-level mafia thugs. He's writing a story on them."

Mary's look of astonishment widened, even more as she noticed that John and Molly, though amused, were nowhere near as impressed as she.

"Ah now, come on, you must have insider knowledge there."

"I do recognise one of the men, yes, but the journalist sticks out like a sore thumb."

"Goodness, I dread to think what you infered about me when we first met!"

Sherlock smiled and thought it best not to mention he'd figured her out across a park while listening on a wire to John chat her up.

A waitress came up to their table.

"Good evening, may I take your food orders?"

"I'll have the chicken salad to start and then the rack of lamb," requested Molly.

"I'll have the same," said Sherlock, flashing Molly a quick smile.

John looked at the two of them curiously but was soon distracted by giving his own order.

"So Molly, tell me how you came to know John and Sherlock," asked Mary.

"Well, I knew Sherlock first. He somehow got lab privileges via Scotland Yard at St. Barts. Mike Stamford, my boss, trained with John years ago, and he introduced him to Sherlock as a potential flatmate. Once John started working on cases with Sherlock, I started to see the two of them quite regularly," explained Molly.

"Except you couldn't remember my name for ages," put in John.

"Of course I knew your name!"

"No, it's true, when you introduced us to Jim, you had to ask John what his name was," said Sherlock, unhelpfully.

"Well I haven't forgotten it since!"

"I'm very memorable," said John.

"Who is Jim?" asked Mary innocently.

There was a sudden silence around the table. The band returned.

"Mary, will you dance with me?" asked Sherlock.

"Of course," said Mary, a bit surprised. They stood up and made for the dance floor.

Left alone, John and Molly were quiet for a second.

"I did know your name, I just forgot it temporarily."

"I know. Sherlock has the effect on many people. He doesn't mean to, if it's any consolation."

"Yeah. We really have to get past mentioning Moriarty in conversation. He's always going to be this thing. So let's just drop it, ok?"

"No problem, Molly. You and Mary seem to be getting on very well."

"We are. She's great. Even Sherlock likes her. I've never seen him willing to please before."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he was just deflecting her Jim question to spare your feelings, Molly."

"Oh. Right."

Meanwhile, on the dance floor.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Yes, but you weren't to know. Long story short: Jim Moriarty was my nemesis. He used Molly to get to me and then forced me to fake my death to protect John, amongst others from assassins. He's dead now."

"Ah pull the other one: is this some sort of horizontal ladder joke on the new girl?" asked Mary.

"No, entirely true. You have been out of the country for several years – I'm not surprised you never heard any of this."

"But normal people don't have nemesises – nemeses?"

"I assure you it is all true; and what in our acquaintance would suggest I was normal? You may apply to John for references on both points but I ask you to refrain until Molly is not around. Moriarty used her appallingly and I would not wish her further pain by forcing her to recall it."

"You really do like her, don't you?"

"Indeed."

"You could try a bit harder…compliment here or there, actually try talking to her."

Just then, John decided to cut in.

"That's enough touching my girlfriend!" he teased. Sherlock willingly ceded his position and returned to Molly, who was touching up her lipstick.

"Thanks for covering before. It was very…gentlemanly of you."

"Entirely my fault in the first place…"

"We won't have that old argument again."

"Fine. Mary is filled in but I'm afraid she didn't believe me."

"It is pretty unreal," Molly smiled, her composure recovered.

"Does she still think we're on a date?"

"She'd hardly say otherwise to me…Molly, maybe we…you really do look lovely tonight," he changed track mid-sentence and reaching over, gave her hand a quick squeeze.

Molly's mouth dropped open silently at the compliment and the touch.

"Wow. You actually meant that one, didn't you?" she said finally.

"What do you mean "this one"? I always mean the compliments I pay you."

"That came out wrong…you have no ulterior motive right now."

"I wouldn't say I had none," his voice dropped down.

"I might like to kiss you."

Molly gasped.

"You mean to keep up our front for Mary? Better to wait until she's watching, Sherlock."

"No. Not for Mary."

"Sorry. I'm being remarkably thick here."

"You're not imagining it. Can't it, for once, just be me looking at a beautiful woman and wanting to kiss her?"

"I don't think so, Sherlock. I think this might be worse than you saying horrible things to me."

"What? Why? I don't understand."

"Don't toy with me. It's not fair. Oh, thank god, some food to distract us," she said as the waitress began to bring starters. Molly waved John and Mary back and stood up as they returned.

"I'm just going to wash my hands."

Mary caught sight of Molly's face.

"What's wrong? Lovers tiff?" she asked Sherlock.

"Nothing of the sort."

"Mary, there's nothing going on between Molly and Sherlock."

"I may not know you all well yet but I promise you there most certainly is."

John looked askance at Sherlock, who shrugged.

"What are you playing at, Sherlock?"

Molly returned quickly and seemed to have regained her normal calm.

They started eating and John took charge of the conversation, lightening it with funny stories about cases, and emails he got via the blog.

"No, I'm serious. I had one asking if Sherlock would be interested in moonlighting as an escort!"

"I declined," Sherlock said dryly.

They ate and they drank and the food seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Once it was gone down, Mary eyed the dance floor again.

"Come on – couple of more dances before we head for home."

The band were playing more up tempo music now and Molly stood up and now held out her hand to Sherlock. It seemed she was past their earlier conversation. Sherlock was all too willing to let it be for now so he grabbed her hand and twirled her on to the floor.

"We dance well together," Molly commented as they executed a figure of eight twirl.

"I always dance well," retorted Sherlock. "But particularly so with you," he added hastily.

"You really threw me before with your confession."

Oh, it seemed they were not past it after all.

"I apologise for any offence. You know me: I always speak my mind."

"I know you do. I just never anticipated you saying something like that."

"I meant it."

Sherlock turned Molly back towards him after a tidy little side by side move and pulled her close. She inhaled sharply. This time her gaze did not falter as he looked her in the eye. Their lips got closer until finally they met in the middle for a sweet, gentle kiss. Both sets of eyes closed at the touch. Two pairs of feet stopped moving as they were caught in a different kind of dance.

John and Mary danced by the couple now kissing. They both noticed at once.

"What the hell?" exclaimed John loudly.

He stomped up to where they stood and put his hand on Sherlock's arm, separately him from Molly.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I would have thought it was apparent, John."

"Don't you remember our earlier talk?"

"What's going on?" intervened Molly. She looked at Mary, who looked confused.

John suddenly remembered his manners.

"Sherlock, why don't we step out into the hallway for a minute? Excuse us, ladies."

They left a bewildered pair of women on the dance floor, who quickly returned to their seats.

In the corridor, John threw Sherlock a furious look.

"You were kissing Molly Hooper!"

"Yes."

"Why? Don't you remember? How can you be so unfeeling? And what's the point of it?"

Sherlock took out his phone and sent a quick text before speaking.

"It's none of your business, John."

"None of my business? Of course it is. You're my best mate. She's my friend. She's foolishly mad about you. Normally you couldn't give a toss. You don't treat people like this! Shit! Have you been insisting on lessons so you could involve Molly in some hideously inappropriate undercover work?"

Sherlock regarded him carefully, wondering whether it was better to let him think the worst or take him into his confidence. He settled for the middle ground.

"John, I assure you have no intention of hurting Molly. Will you wait until we get home for an explanation rather than ruin the evening?"

John was blindsided by this unexpectedly reasonable request. He nodded curtly.

Inside: simultaneously, at the table.

"Molly, tell me what happened!"

"We were talking and he said he'd like to kiss me and I kind of didn't believe him – that just before the food arrived. And then when we danced again, we were getting on so well and he just suddenly kissed me. I thought there was something off but I couldn't help myself, Mary…I've wanted to kiss him forever."

"Molly, I shouldn't tell you this but Sherlock asked me to set up this evening so that he could spend time with you…"

"Oh, Mary, I'm sure you must have misunderstood him. This evening was for you to get to know us."

Mary shot her a look of that said _I wasn't born yesterday_ and then her phone beeped with a text.

"It's from Sherlock!"

"What does it say?"

Mary read it and announced

"Nothing…it's blank."

"He sent you a blank text – let me see"

Molly grabbed Mary's phone and read the text.

Say nothing to Molly.

I will fix this.

SH

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Er…"

Molly stood up and grabbed her bag. She stomped out to the hallway, where she quickly spotted Sherlock and John. She marched over to them.

"Say nothing to Molly? About what? I'm sick of this crap!"

The two men said nothing for a minute and then both spoke at once.

"Molly, I can explain," tried Sherlock.

"Molly, can you give us a minute?" begged John.

"Oh you can have all the time you want…I'm sick of the two of you and the lies and the flattery and the experiments. I'm leaving!"

She ran towards the door. Sherlock started to go after her but John held him back.

"We're not finished here, and I don't think you could make it any worse by holding off on explaining to her…"

Mary came out into the corridor.

"Where's Molly? She left her capelet behind."

"She left," said John.

"It seems like you've got some serious explaining to do, Sherlock."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI: Coming clean**

The remaining three stood in the corridor gaping at each other.

Mary was confused. She thought Molly would respond positively to Sherlock's attention. John's behaviour was also startling – did he not want them to be happy? Perhaps there was more to Molly's innocent remark about John already having a boyfriend…

John was confused. Sherlock was suddenly paying attention to Molly in a new way. He'd never seen him kiss anyone other than Mrs Hudson before – and that had been entirely familial. What the hell was going on?

Sherlock was not confused. He hated to be defeated but perhaps there had been too many lies to balance this evening. He was now trying to decide if it was better to resolve the issue at hand, i.e. John, or chase after Molly, who was clearly very angry, and perplexed. John solved the dilemma by speaking.

"I'm going to take Mary home. I'll see you back at Baker St in an hour or so and we'll talk," said John, not unkindly.

"Fine."

"Sherlock, if you've ever valued any of my opinions: do not go after Molly now. It will be a mistake."

"Fine," he repeated.

John and Mary made their way to the taxi rank and got in. He looked at her sadly.

"I'm sorry this evening has ended so poorly. I really wanted us all to have a fun night."

"We were, for the most part…but John, I have questions and possibly some answers."

The doctor sucked in a breath and nodded.

"When Sherlock came to see me last week, he told me that he had feelings for Molly but that he couldn't act on them straightaway. He said he'd treated her badly in the past – in a work capacity – and so thought that spending time together socially, in a non-threatening larger group, might help. I pointed out that this was unnecessarily complicated but he asked me to trust him."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" John was astonished, and not quite ready to believe her.

"He said you would tease him."

"What? The manipulative bastard. I wouldn't have teased him, if he were serious about it all but I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"You don't know him like I do. He's very committed to his career. I've never seen him in any relationship. There was a fascination with a woman last year but it was more intellectual – she got the better of him in a case, and it bugged him. He didn't actually fancy her."

"That doesn't preclude him fancying other people. John, you're not jealous, are you?"

John reached for Mary's hand.

"No, no, of course not. If you knew how many times I've been forced to deny that Sherlock and I are a couple though…. He's my best friend. I'm very pissed off at him right now but we'll sort it out. I only have eyes for you, and if I didn't think I should put this thing with Molly right, I would come in with you now and prove it. As it is, will you settle for my word and a quick snog?"

It was a testament to the growing feeling between them that Mary was willing to believe him so whole-heartedly. Before long, she was home and John was on his way back to Baker St.

John threw open the door to the sitting room and called out for Sherlock. He was nowhere to be seen but violin music was comingfrom his room. John marched down the corridor and banged on the door. He barged in to find Sherlock staring out the window, violin in hand.

"Sherlock, I'm making some tea. Get your arse out to the living room and leave the Strad here."

Sherlock said nothing but he put the violin down, almost meekly. Following John outside, he sat down in his favourite armchair.

"Alright, talk."

"What would you like to talk about?"

John's face bobbed out of the kitchen to show a pained expression.

"Molly. You. Explain."

"I may have gotten caught up your lessons and the homework."

"What do you mean?"

"Suddenly found myself regretting that I hadn't realised she once asked me out. And that she never tried again."

"Sorry. Not buying it." John returned with tea on a tray.

"Why does no one believe me?"

"Oh I don't know….because we've met you before…because you've never indicated an iota of romantic interest in another human being before…I could go on."

"I get the picture. If I can't make you believe me, I definitely can't make Molly."

"Wait, did you tell her this?"

"Sort of. She was incredulous."

"She still let you kiss her though…"

"Caught up in the moment, no doubt. Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

"What doesn't?"

"The why of it all…clearly, the experiment has failed. John, I've decided to drop out of your lessons."

"Ok, first of all, don't you dare call Molly an experiment! She is a real human person with feelings and god knows why but she has them for you. Second of all, if you are suddenly dropping the Tin Man act, then you owe it to yourself to explore it. I didn't start this so that you could treat women worse than you already did. Thirdly, you don't drop out of my lessons. You get one more and if you succeed, I'll let you graduate."

Sherlock sighed outwardly as if put upon but inside he did a quick basic cha-cha-cha. He might not be able to bend Molly to his will, even if for her own good, but he was a master manipulator of his flatmate.

"What will it entail?"

"Funnily enough, it will start with more apologies. Then some begging. It should be nice and humbling for you. And if you are very lucky, she'll give you another chance." John hesitated before continuing. "Look, Sherlock, are you sure that you have entirely sincere feelings for her, because I don't want you to hurt her anymore than you have….and you've already made me an unwitting accessory to the crime. And my girlfriend, for that matter."

"Is this where I have buy flowers and chocolate and that sort of crap…it's really not me, John."

John smiled, patient now that he was getting a handle on the situation.

"Hmm, well, let's review what we know about Molly Hooper. She's smart, a doctor, a pathologist, so not an ordinary woman. Her blog is full of kittens and hearts but it's obviously just a template. Her apartment is tidy and modern, without much girly clutter. So no. She's not a flowers and choccie type of girl. You'll have to use your considerable brain power and knowledge of the lady to come up with exactly the right apology."

Sherlock looked stumped. In turn, John was frustrated.

"I shouldn't help you at all but I'm pretty sure a genuine apology and honest explanation is all you need here."

"Really? Excellent, I'll go see her tomorrow at work."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"She embarrasses easily. Do you think she wants a confession of love or like or whatever it is in her work place? Besides, tomorrow is Sunday, genius. She won't be at work."

Sherlock visibly deflated.

"What if I suggested meeting in a neutral place?"

"It's risky; she might not come but it's a good start."

"Should I text her now or tomorrow?"

"Text? Again, no. You'll have to summon the courage to make an actual telephone call for this one."

Molly looked at her phone when it rang so late. Seeing it was Sherlock, she pressed ignore. She blew her nose noisily and dabbed the tissue on her tear-stained face. Her lovely dress was flung on the floor. Toby had made himself a cosy bed in it. She was an idiot to think she could pretend anything with Sherlock. After all they'd been through together, how could he use her so? But wait, said her conscience, you don't even know what he was using you for. Maybe it was genuine. Bollocks. That sociopath asshole had some underhand plan that involved making her even more foolishly soppy over him than usual.

"John, she's not answering. Now can I send a text?" Sherlock hung up a third time.

"Voicemail would be better. Here's what to say…"

"I know what to say. Give me some credit."

Sherlock pressed 7. He'd never noticed that he had Molly on speed-dial before. It went through to her overly cheery voicemail.

"Hi. This is Molly Hooper. I'm probably doing an autopsy right now so please leave me a message and I'll call you back when I've washed my hands!"

"Molly. I've had a talk with John and explained everything and I'd like the opportunity to do the same with you. Would you meet me tomorrow? I understand if you don't want to. Please call me back. Or text me. Or email me. Ok, I'm apparently rambling now and this is out of character."

Sherlock was cut off abruptly as John reached over and hit the end call button.

"That was…_John searched for an adjective that wasn't long-winded and pathetic_…good."

Molly's phone chimed again – this time a voicemail. She listened to it. At the end, the robot voice said "to delete this message, press 5, to save this message, press 4, to listen again, press 3." She pressed 3. And then 4. After she knew it by heart, she sent a text back.

_You don't deserve it but I deserve an explanation. 3pm tomorrow at the caf on the corner of my road._

When she finished sending the text, she realised there was one in. The fucker. Oh, it was from Mary.

_Molly – I know we don't know each other well but if you feel like a chat. I have wine, ice-cream, things you can hit, whatever._

_X_

She replied.

_Thanks – I'll definitely take you up on the hitting things. I have a nice picture of Sherlock I can tack to something._

_Molly_

When John got up the next morning, he found Sherlock still lying on the couch, though now wearing his pyjamas and a day's worth of stubble.

"Morning."

Sherlock grunted at him: never a morning person at the best of times.

"I'm making some coffee. If anyone else would like some, then he can follow me into the kitchen."

John busied himself at the coffee machine and as soon as the smell of fresh roasted beans began to waft through the air, Sherlock appeared.

"How are you feeling about your meeting with Molly later on?"

"Fine."

"Know what you're going to say?"

"Not really."

"Want some help?"

Sherlock eyed John suspiciously.

"Last night, you were dead against the idea of any status quo change. What's happened?"

"Oh, let's just say I'm a romantic fool, and it's in my best interests for all my friends to be happy, even if that means being happy together. I'm sure it would be character building for you to have a girlfriend."

"Who said anything about having a girlfriend?!" said Sherlock, outraged.

"Well, one night stands with people you see on a regular basis aren't the done thing, Sherlock. And then there's the fact that Molly genuinely likes you. Or at least she did," he added with a laugh.

"That's not helpful, John."

"No. But the rest of what I have to say is. Listen to me, my friend, I am the teacher, and you are the student. We never did get to the lesson about showing your emotions and now is the time to do it."

"Can it wait until I've showered and shaved?"

"Don't shave."

"Why not?"

"Trust me. Women like stubble. And it'll make you seem more emotionally raw – like you were too upset to make an effort. Since Molly will never have seen you anything other than looking well-turned out, it will appeal to her kinder side."

"You're a bit like a horse-whisperer, only for women, aren't you?" wondered Sherlock.

"Yes, but never repeat that outside this room. Also, wear those jeans you bought and t-shirt. No suits for you today."

"Really?!"

"Honestly, Sherlock, you're like a reverse child, stomping your foot because you can't wear a fancy suit. Do as I tell you. You're trying to show Molly a different side – it'll help if you actually look different."

An hour later, Sherlock emerged from his room wearing tight black jeans, a blue t-shirt and a leather jacket.

_That bastard – does he ever look bad?_ thought John as he inspected the makeover.

"You'll do," he pronounced.

"Now remember, compliments, apologies, beg for another chance, or even a first chance. Get it right and she'll be eating out of your hand."

Sherlock nodded and moved towards the door, then he looked back at his flatmate.

"Thanks, John."

_Fuck…_thought John, _don't make me regret this._

He waited until Sherlock was out on the street hailing a cab, and then he made a phone call.

"Molly, it's John. We need to talk."

At five to 3, Sherlock stepped into the café at the end of Molly's street. It was called Rudy's and looked like a million other greasy spoons up and down the country. It had formica table tops and vile 70s wooden panelling but was at least clean and relatively empty. Sitting down at a corner table, he inspected the menu and ordered a coffee. At 3pm on the dot, Molly arrived. Her hair was loose and wind-tossed. She wore brown cords and an old green v-neck t-shirt. It was a look he hadn't seen on her before and only added to her Molly-ness. She looked perfectly comfortable and entirely opposed to his discomfort at being dressed unusually. Sherlock stood up awkwardly when she approached the table.

"Hi."

She merely nodded and sat down.

"Molly – usual lunch, love?" called out someone, perhaps the eponymous Rudy.

"No, thanks, Chaz, just some tea for now."

Looking back at Sherlock, they both spoke at once.

"You look terrible," she remarked.

"You look gorgeous," he said.

"I thought you were done lying, Sherlock," she snapped.

"That wasn't a lie. Twice this weekend I've seen you look very different to how you dress at work and both are in separate ways alluring."

Molly bit down the harsh comeback she had prepared.

"And thank you, by the way, for telling me I look terrible. I hardly slept at all, if you must know. And the iron is broken, so I had to dress in casual clothes."

Molly laughed in spite of herself.

"Only you would care that your iron is broken. Most men don't even own one. Tell me, is your razor broken too?" she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Sherlock thought privately that this was going quite well.

"I just didn't have the energy to shave. It's Sunday, and so on."

"Actually, I think it's quite sexy," she said, reaching out and stroking his cheek briefly.

The moment was interrupted by "Chaz" with the beverages.

"All right, Mol, introduce us to your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend. He's barely even my friend at the moment…but since you ask, this is Sherlock, Sherlock, this is Chaz."

"You're kidding me? This is 'im? The one?" He turned to address Sherlock.

"I don' know what you done, mate, cos usually she's singing your praises."

"Yes, right, thank you, Chaz, we'll give you a shout if we need anything else," said Molly quickly.

She busied herself with pouring milk into her tea.

"I'm waiting for an apology, Sherlock. And then a lengthy explanation."

Despite all the well-crafted lines he had rehearsed during the sleepless night, his mind went blank now. He took a sip of coffee to cover himself and immediately spat it back out.

"Ugh, that is the worst coffee I've ever had."

Molly smiled wickedly.

"You might have warned me."

"I thought you deserved it. And I'm still waiting…"

"Right, well, the thing is, I'm not, I mean, er, I'm not very good at opening up to people. Blame distant parents and boarding school if you like but the truth is I probably cultivated it a little too. It was easier to pretend to be socially ambivalent."

"And then you met John."

"You make him sound like my saviour."

"Well, isn't he? He's a far better friend than you deserve, Sherlock."

"I know. I don't deserve either of you. But Molly, I want you both. I need my blogger and my pathologist. And like it or not, you both need me."

"We don't need you, Sherlock. John and I would be just fine without you. But you do need us."

"Don't hold back, Molly."

"I wasn't going to. Sherlock, I'm not sure why you did what you did last night but someone clearly has to tell you that it's not ok to toy with my feelings. And since you've obviously gotten to John and bent him back around your little finger, it falls to me again, to call you on your abominable behaviour towards me, again."

"But don't you see…I didn't do anything abominable. I took you out for a lovely evening, we danced, and we kissed. I thought it was a very nice kiss. Wasn't it?" he said, suddenly unsure.

A fleeting far away look in her eyes told Sherlock that she was recalling it.

"I certainly never imagined we'd ever kiss. But the point is Sherlock, that you have repeatedly stated that you are married to your work and not interested in pursuing any kind of love life. So naturally I am forced to conclude that you are using me for some ulterior motive."

"You're wrong though. I changed my mind. And that is down to John too. I see what he has with Mary and I realised that I thought of you in the same way. In my head, we were already in a relationship, it just wasn't physical."

"Oh, Sherlock," said Molly in a disappointed parent voice, "please tell me that you haven't deluded yourself into thinking that a steady course of autopsies and you alternating flattery with insults is a relationship."

"That came out wrong. I meant, I'd see John smile at Mary, and I'd look around for you so we could do the same. Once I realised that, I thought what a dick I've been all this time. So this is me, apologising sincerely for all the times I've hurt you, insulted you, flattered you inappropriately. Please give me a chance. I'm not promising to change into a perfect man but at least let me try."

Molly was stunned at his seemingly sincere tone.

"Sherlock, that's a very pretty speech and I wish could believe you, but I don't. So from now on, there's a new rule. You find yourself a new lab to work at. Find a new tame pathologist. If you're genuinely interested in me, you'll do this. If you're still interested in a few weeks time, then we can discuss it."

She stood up and tossed two pound coins down on the table.

"Bye, Sherlock."

He couldn't believe it. Of all the times for her to grow a spine.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Deadly."

She left the café. Sherlock sat there and drank the awful coffee in penance. This was unexpected. Maybe he should call John? No. Too soon. Sherlock found he was actually upset at this turn of events.

Outside on the street, Molly sent a text, then leaned against the wall and waited. After what seemed like ages, Sherlock emerged from the café and walked away from her. Even his walk seemed dejected. Keeping her distance, she quietly followed him for a few minutes and then hurried to catch up.

"You're an idiot, you know."

Sherlock turned around, an incredulous look on his face at the unmistakable sound of her voice.

"You couldn't just be a normal guy, and ask me out. Instead you turned me into a case, meticulously planning what you thought I would like, when all along, all I really wanted was for you to be yourself. Well not exactly yourself, a kinder version of you, who wanted to spend time with me outside the morgue. I was so wrapped up in my unrequited passion that I missed that it was suddenly reciprocated, at least on some nascent level."

She stopped talking and looked up at him, eager to see how he would react now. When he didn't respond, she prompted.

"It_ was_ a really nice kiss, Sherlock."

He reached his hand to the back of her neck and drew her close but stopped short of kissing her.

"You and John planned this. As punishment."

"Yes, we did. Not very pleasant is it?"

"Certainly not."

Molly reached up on her tippy toes to kiss him softly. She tightened her arms around his neck so they were on eye level. His arms encircled her frame holding her in place.

"You'll only get one more chance, I mean it."

"So you're saying I better not screw it up? Maybe I should have lessons from John then," said Sherlock, with a smirk, as he bent down to kiss her properly.

**A/N: Long discussion with Thinkswithpen. This fic nearly ended with Molly leaving the coffee shop. She really didn't want Sherlock to get the girl this time, and I kinda agreed but felt the happy maybe someday worked. If you prefer, you can imagine that this time he didn't get her. Thanks for reading: I hope you enjoyed it.**


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